


Burning Silk

by celestialchirps



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Could just be plain epilogue compliant, Earth C (Homestuck), Ex Sex, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Vaguely Epilogue Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22575907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialchirps/pseuds/celestialchirps
Summary: It hurts to want something you can't have, but you'll grasp for it in futility anyway. You wish you could make him love you.
Relationships: Jake English/Dirk Strider
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	Burning Silk

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a collection of poetry snippets from Richard Silken. Kudos to anyone who can spot them.

You’re both still coated in sweat from the heat of the stage lights and the exertion of publicly vying for physical dominance when you, for the first time in years, air out the shittiest of your dirty laundry. You’re both standing at the base of a stairwell in the dressing room, you in your now tattered tank top with a towel draped around your neck to soak up your sweat, and Jake completely shirtless because he’d foregone the concept of shame ages ago.

He’s so handsome. He always has been, and it’s always driven you some semblance of insane, because it’s not like you don’t have options now. You could conceivably have moved on from him years ago, but something about his stupid smile and the way he’s always both understood you and found you impossible to fully perceive has always driven you to him. You’re in the back seat and you haven’t once gotten to choose where your feelings would take you, and that’s especially true now in this messy, oddly lit room.

You’re confessing that you love him because you’re weak and hollow and it doesn’t fucking matter anymore - you’ll never escape from it. He doesn’t react, and you feel another fragment of yourself breaking off and burrowing itself like a parasite into another universe where maybe _that_ version of you gets to be happy. As hopeless as you are when you do battle with your feelings, you still think that maybe there’s a chance he just hasn’t processed it. It hasn’t sunken in, even though there’s this look of pity flavored fear behind Jake’s beautiful forest green eyes. You’ve already bared your tattered, scattered soul. What else do you have to lose?

Jake’s just as non-reactionary when you kiss him. He’s frozen as you desperately pour out your love and post-fight adrenaline against his unresponsive lips, and you press yourself as close as you can until he finally jolts away from you. Strong calloused hands clamp around your upper arms and push you back, and when your eyes snap open he’s there. Lips glistening from where yours had been, and an utterly bewildered expression plastered on his face.

You’re caught in the gut-wrenching stalemate of waiting for him to chastise you and fuck off to wherever he goes after every episode you film together, but nothing’s happening. He’s staring at you, breathing almost imperceptibly uneven; but you notice because you inhale everything about him like you’ll asphyxiate without him. When his brain finally catches up to his mouth, you stop him. You feel the rejection coming and you can’t take this anymore.

“Please,” you whisper, reaching up to grasp his bicep in an attempt to keep your legs from going out from under you. Something snaps and he’s kissing you. Heat thrills its way through your body, and all of your pain is forgotten in an embrace that deep down you know is only temporary.

Jake English is a well and you’ve fallen into him. You could scrabble your way up from the bottom but what would the point be when you can just lure his hands back to your skin like they never left? Maybe he’ll make you a more complete version of yourself, laughable as that concept sounds. What a fucking idiot you are.

With his lips on you, you’re melting. Clutching at him, pulling him to follow you to some unknown destination - one you only find when the backs of your thighs hit the nearest dressing table. The next part of you to touch the table are your shoulders, with a thump that dislodges you from the kiss. He looks again like he’s going to say something, and you silence him with a very unsubtle roll of your hips against his. He gasps, and horny adrenaline takes out what little sense he does have pinging around in his head like a Windows screensaver.

Hands slam down on the table on either side of your head, Jake leaning over you with a hungry growl rolling around in his mouth when it should be your tongue and you have the most profound thought. You want to drive your body into his like a crash test car.

His lips seal to your pulse point and your legs wrap around his waist. You’re going to hold him close, hope to never have to let go again, knowing that you will. Right now, though, you’re not going to think about that. Head tipping back as he works at making a mark on your sweaty skin, you tangle your fingers into his hair and whine. Such an undignified fucking noise, but he doesn’t comment, only pushes himself closer to you and ruts. You’re both hard, both raring to go, but there’s so much fabric in the way that you’re squirming under him to get your free hand at his stupid little shorts.

Popping the button makes him lean away, his eyebrows flirting with his hairline, and you smirk up at him. You are the cat and he’s about to give you the cream if your hand cupping him through his underwear has anything to say about it. Jake snorts at you, smiles like the sun he is, and steps aside to work you out of your pants. Skin-tight jeans have never been more of a fucking problem than they are right now as they cling to your legs and catch on your shoes on their way down. Whatever, you’re too busy gawking at him after you’ve grabbed hold of his shorts and underwear and thrown them down his legs toward the floor.

Yeah, you’ve slept with him a lot since the game ended. Emphasis on a lot. Every time was supposed to be the last, but you don’t have that kind of self control and he can’t help but break your heart with his gorgeous dick and stupid buck-toothed salacious grin. Someday you’ll be over him enough to break him instead, but right now you really want him inside you.

A few lines of rap and you’re waving a bottle of lube in his surprisingly star-struck face. You see him startle and for a moment you want to laugh at him being impressed with you for being prepared, but that might give away the fact that you always are. Instead you kick him in the shin and raise your legs in the air in a way that says, “Get a fucking move on already.”

The backs of your knees get deposited on his shoulder and chilly wet fingers flutter over your perineum. He’s being slow and gentle, always is at this part, and it’s not what you need right now. You hiss your displeasure and press back toward him with an anchoring hand on the edge of the table, and that gets him to get this pony show on the road. His finger slides home and your eyes roll back, your head lolls to the side, and your shades clatter as they fall off your face and onto the table.

It feels so fucking good to have him inside of you, even if it’s not all of him just yet. You wish you could kiss him, but he’s just so far away, and that would require him bending you in half. Maybe it’s for the best that you can’t, because he’s pressing a second finger inside you and spreading them. You’re keening, wriggling, and he’s making a low sound in the back of his throat that vibrates all the way down your legs to your cock, which is twitching against your abdomen. He’s about to press a third inside when you grab him by the arm and give him a scathing one-eye-open look.

Thank fuck it’s enough to get him to pull his fingers out, lube himself up, and press into you. It’s slow going. It burns. Fucking hurts. But you’re loving it either way, because it’s everything you wanted. You can’t think of anything but how he feels filling you and that’s just what you need. Your brain, turned off, unable to pull from its endless pool of bullshit to torment you.

Once he deems you ready, he readjusts his stance, changes how your legs are positioned over his shoulder, and begins fucking you in earnest. Several things clatter off the dressing table and you have no idea what to do with your hands so you cling to it like your life depends on it while he bends you like a straw and pounds you within an inch of your life. In, out, squeezing your thighs, grunting, hardly looking at you.

Hardly looking at you.

You grit your teeth and jam yourself forward into his cock, driving an animalistic sound from his lips and snapping those emerald greens to meet molten orange. You’re challenging him to a fight that isn’t televised and he rises to meet you by throwing your legs off of him and pulling out. You’re about to protest past your surprised cry when those strong hands grasp at your slender hips and flip you over. Belly down on the table so you can’t silently demand he look at you again, he fucks into you again and drives you absolutely fucking wild. You’re clawing at the table, groaning, making every embarrassing sound under the sun because this position is one where he hits all the right spots. Every inch of him that could fit inside of you is, and you’re unaware of how quickly you’re racing toward your finish until your back arches so hard that the only thing touching the table is your forearms and the side of your face and you make a complete mess of the floor.

Three more pumps into you while you spasm around him and he’s making a high sound in his throat and filling you more than he already had been. Awareness leaves you after you feel him cum in you, and you’re floating. Gone. Disconnected from your head and floaty in the most pleasant of ways - but that pleasantness flees when he pulls out and you come back to full awareness to the sound of him tucking himself away and walking around the table.

Something plastic slaps down on the wooden surface with a disheartening crunch, and his voice finally hits your ears. He’s been rambling about something this entire time, but it’s only now that you comprehend what about.

“- we can’t keep doing this and you know it. Sure yes we’re very physically compatible and you’re hands down the most handsome gent I’ve ever met, but -”

“Jake.”

“We are exes and I dare say I doubt that’s going to cha-”

Something in you snaps like a bowstring pulled too taut. Your pants are down, his essence is leaking out of you, and he’s saying this shit like he didn’t just fuck you brainless in a public space. “Shut the fuck up and get out.” The words hiss past your teeth, your head lifting so your eyes can meet his shocked gaze.

His mouth hangs open for a moment, then snaps shut. He hesitates. Points to the water bottle he’d left you on the table, and hightails it like a bat out of hell out of the dressing room. He’s left you alone, and your forehead smacks down against the table as you cry.

You wish you could make him love you so you could make him feel this too.

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be pretty... well, pretty damn unsatisfying, and I hope that I nailed that feeling.


End file.
